Heave-ho!

[If you're feeling urpish or are easily impressionable, read on at your own risk.]

Firstly, we'd just finished supper ten minutes prior to the incident.

Secondly, I was doing some laundry for a neighbor who's on post-partum bed rest, and just happened to be dealing with a particularly disturbing towel. (Don't judge.)

Thirdly, the dog was four feet away. Maybe three. He's really old and he really smells.

Fourthly, the dog huked up a Horrible Something, three and half feet away from me. Maybe two and a half. Something that was never intended by Mother Nature to project from that end of a dog. (TMI already, or should I be more descriptive?) I screamed and opened the back door and out ran the dog, to huke some more, alone, in the cold.

Fifthly, I started to heave. Hard. So I ran. I ran to the bathroom to oust its present occupant and grab the Pine-Sol so I could (a) sniff it, and (b) gather my courage to deal with the Horrible Something.

Sixthly, the former occupant of the bathroom sympathized when I said the word "awful," responding tenderly, "Oh, I believe it was awful . . . ," and before he could finish his sentence I had a terrible vision of the the Horrible Something my dog ate while hiking with said former bathroom occupant, earlier in the day. "No more words!" I said, and heaved.

There you have them, half a dozen reasons why:

—Why I put my head in a waste basket and kept it there for almost ten full minutes, heaving.

—Why I called the s.f.o.b.* on the intercom and begged him to do the wretched clean-up job for me, since I couldn't take my head out of the waste basket.

—Why I felt a little miffed that the s.f.o.b.* let the dog eat the Horrible Something in the first place. (It was a passing irrational grudge. Don't tell me you wouldn't have held it for a second too.)

—Why I sequestered myself in the library (with my head still in the waste basket) until I knew s.f.o.b.* had finished the dreadful job and it was safe to come out.

—Why I suddenly found myself on the floor, my head still in the waste basket, heaving and gagging, and laughing (my guts out, nearly) at the ridiculousness of the situation.

—Why I decided I needed my little jar of Vicks Vaporub to sniff, but dreaded walking past the huked-on landing to go downstairs for it.

—Why I found the only somewhat distractingly fragrant item in the library—an Aloe chapstick—and practically shoved it up my nose (to stop me from heaving).

—Why my stomach really, really hurts!

—Why I love my s.f.o.b.* for doing the dirty work tonight.


*said former occupant of the bathroom